Like the scraping

sound
of wadded paper

over dry grass,
I let the early

sunshine’s bite
on my face

bloom
and slither

down
until ripe.
Couldn’t help

but put my lips

out,
as if the blushing

sky for a kiss

would lean in.
And it always

tears a hole

in you
when

it’s gone

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

________________

 

Photo: SARITA ~ https://www.instagram.com/sarimundo/